Innovation
by Metronomeblue
Summary: With the sudden appearance of his dedicated protege and ex-lover, the group find that Hal hasn't been exactly honest aout his past. A witch around the corner and a sudden influx of murders do not help the situation. T for language, etc. Chapter one revised.
1. Of 1950

A/N: Isobel. Ah. ummm... Yeah. I just wanted to write something that involved blood ice cream sundaes and the line about 'killing your wife', and I somehow ended up with this. It's as PWP as you can get while still stuck in T, I s'pose. Although, Izzy's fond of coming out as sexy as I can make her without being crude, so there you go. I'd quite like some feedback on her, so yeah..

Hal's day had been, quite frankly, terrible. Cutler had completely refused to cooperate, Fergus was asking why they simply couldn't kill the solicitor yet, and Hetty had massacred an entire primary school. He closed the door to his office and turned to lock it, before hearing a rustling sound. He stiffened, drawing the smells and sounds of the room into his brain, separating and sorting them until he found the identity of the intruder. He relaxed, (visibly, he was sure), and turned.

"Hello Milord." Isobel was perched on the edge of his desk, demurely nibbling on what appeared to be a dish of ice cream. The rustling had apparently been her silk dress moving as she crossed her legss. Hal nodded in reply, removing his hat and coat and leaving them on the coatrack. He sauntered over to Isobel slowly, a predator to his prey. The closer he got, the more a sharp, warm scent entered his nose.

"Blood? On Ice cream?" Hal teased, leaning next to her. She uncrossed her legs, moving to the side for him almost subconsciously.

"I'm an innovator." Isobel said darkly, smirking and offering Hal a spoonful of frozen cream and rich copper. He closed his mouth aorund it, eyes never leaving hers.

"Mm, you're right, that's good." Isobel's smirk grew. "I'm having trouble with one of my recruits." Added Hal thoughtfully.

"Who, Cutler? I don't trust him." Isobel licked a swath of silver up her spoon. "Mm. There is something profoundly wrong with a man who will not kill his wife."

"I agree." Hal took both spoon and dish and set them on his desk. "But I'd like to test a theory." He took both of her hands, pulling her around in front of him. He pulled her arms out wide, pressing her into him. Hal kept his eyes fixed on Isobel's face. Sober, yet never quite free of that infuriating turn of the lips. She always seemed to be smirking, pale copper hair and blithe hazel eyess concealing a truly manipulative and murderous nature. A fascinating oxymoron that Hal rarely grew tired of.

"And what theory is this?" She breathed, traces of a French accent coming back into her tone the closer he came to her. He softly laid her back on his desk, watching as her hair pooled about her head and her pupils dilated to the point where her iris was obliterated and the whites of her eyes were in danger of the same. Her canines had sharpened, her breathing stilled, and her expression softened in it's intensity. Hal leaned further forward, lips brushing hers.

"Could you kill me?" He breathed, eyes fixed on Isobel's. She swallowed, seeing a predatorial glint in them.

"Only if you wished it, Hal." There. Isobel was, despite her mannerisms, stiffly formal when it came to names. Because she was born French nobility, Hal had long since decided that her need for proper name decorum was second-nature and impossible to break. She addressed the other Old Ones with an epitome of respect, other vampires by their given names. She was impeccably polite to both werewolves and humans alike. And Hal, she addressed as 'Milord', or if she was feeling familiar, 'Henry', but she only ever called him Hal when she was dead serious. Well, that, or infuriated, but he highly doubted her breathing was so shallow because she was angry.

"Hm." He hummed, satisfied, releasing her and stepping back. She appeared slightly winded, a bit disgruntled that he had done nothing else, and more than a bit puzzled.

"How can we judge Mr. Cutler for not killing his wife when we ourselves would not kill each other?" Hal asked thoughtfully, running his fingers down his chin, though any beard he once had is now long gone. Isobel blinked, startled, then huffed a bit.

"I take it you dislike my answer?" Hal asked bemusedly. Isobel shot him a masterfully disdainful look.

"Obviously."

~*~*?/(1955)/?*~*~

"Greene!"

"What, sir?"

"We're out of coffe, PC Greene."

"It's not my job to get you coffee, sir."

"Yes it is."

"No. It definitely isn't."

"You're a girl, Greene. It's definitely your job to get me coffee."

"Piss off, sir."

~*~*~*/(2011)/*~*~*~

"Hi." Tom said cheerily to the girl staring awkwardly at him. She was a new worker at the cafe, and she had yet to introduce herself.

"Hiiiiiiii..." She said, warily drawing out the word and looking him up and down concernedly.

"I'm Tom." He stuck out a hand.

"Louisa..." She replied, taking it gingerly.

A/N: So, there it is. I reread the chapter and realized how horrible and insulting it was to the rest of the story. So I fixed it. Review, please? 


	2. Of Old Friends and New

The shop was packed. Louisa, a new worker, had come in to help, since Hal was so strangely out-of sorts. A few hours ago, however, Tom had called Hal to tell him that there was a vampire asking around for him. The woman was still there, feet propped up on a table, reading The Scarlet Letter. Hal had asked, quite urgently, if she had reddish-blonde hair. When they replied she had, he had practically had a heart attack. The woman had left, then reappeared a few minutes ago, and now they were watching from around a corner as a few boys tumbled in, staring unabashedly at the woman.

"Who do you think she is?" Louisa whispered, a bit freaked out.

"Isobel." She called out. "My name is Isobel, and that's with one O and one L." She smirked over at them and winked. "I'm guessing Hal didn't tell you about me?" They shook their heads. "Ah. So like him, in denial." She went back to her book.

"But, er, who are you?" Asked Tom bluntly and a bit timidly. Louisa elbowed him.

"I'm Hal's... What do you call it these days... Ex-girlfriend? Ex-wife? To be fair, there weren't exactly marriage licenses back then. Or were there?" She didn't seem particularly worried about this particular dilemma. She instead switched her attention over to the boys in the corner, waving and smiling lightly at them. Louisa pursed her lips, and wondered what she had meant by 'back then'.

"Cor, lookit that one." One boy said, pointing discretely at Isobel. "She could be a model."

"I tried modeling once." Isobel raised her voice so they could hear her. She turned a bit and smiled wickedly. They started, scrambling out of the shop, and she smiled even more widely, sadistically, almost. "The look on his face when the pictures came out blank. Oh, priceless."

"Seriously, this lady and Hal?" Tom asked confusedly. Louisa nodded blankly.

"Mm. This is going to be sooo much fun." Isobel purred. Louisa turned around and left suddenly, leaving Tom alone with Isobel. He suddenly looked quite unsettled. "Aaw." She leaned forward again, taking her feet off the table. "Don't worry sweetheart." She stood, and Tom was suddenly quite struck at how close to him she was. She smiled, sharp and inviting, inches away from his face. "I'm not going to hurt you." One of her hands reached up to caress his cheek. "Much."

He could practically feel his blood on her hands.

)!)!)!)!))!Derife, France, 1535!)!)!)!)

"Le rouge dans vos cheveux sont comme les feuilles d'automne. Maintenant, en anglais."

"The red of your hair is like the autumn leaves."

"Tres bon. Maintenant: vos cheveux sont rouges comme les feuilles qui tombent."

"Your hair is as red as the falling leaves." The tutor smiled.

"Maveilleux travail. You are making excellent progress, milady." His pupil blushed demurely, eyes coming to rest on her clasped hands, which were resting in her lap. "Would you like to continue in English?" She nodded, smiling softly.

"Milady!" A messenger came running, out of breath and touseled by the wind beneath the blossoming pear trees. "Milady, il est un visiteur anglais et votre p re vous demande votre pr sence lors d'une c r monie pour le saluer!"

"En anglais, s'il vous plait, monsieur." The noblewoman requested, tone commanding, but softly so.

"Milady, there is an English visitor and your father requests your presence at a ceremony to greet him." The messenger seemed miffed at this newly-required bilingualism. It had been spreading across the entire town lately. Ever since the noblewoman's father had commissioned her an English teacher, she had been manic about the language. It was, quite frankly, insulting.

"Oui, I'll be there right one moment." She smiled.

"In right one moment." Corrected the tutor fondly. She just kept smiling.

)!)!)!)!)!)!)TIMEPASSES!)!)!)!)!))!

"Milady." The servants murmured as one as she passed. She was resplendent as she always was, in a faded green that complemented her pink lips and pale complexion. Copper-gold hair was twisted softly up into a knot, and her smile practically glowed. As she swept up to the dais in the middle of the room, she subtly observed the young man by her father's side. He was obviously important, and from the way he stood, he was soldier. The two usually didn't interconnect in her mind, but the lady found they both suited this mystery man she was to meet.

"Ah, my daughter is here. She will be delighted to know you speak English and French. She has been quite besotted with learing your language." She simply rolled her eyes affctionately at her father's teasing words.

"Lord Henry York." The young man introduced himself, stepping down to her and kissing her hand. "And this wonderfully bright young woman is?"

"Lady Isobel Montfille, of the Derife* Court."

)!)!)!)!)!)!)!)!1956)!)!)!)!)!)!)!)!)

"Hal! Hal York, you get down here right bloody now!" The currently irate voice scratching up the iron steps was not particularly encouraging to Hal. Although, stuck in an attic and tied to a chair, nothing was particularly encouraging.

"Christ." He muttered. "I can't, remember?" He called, gritting his teeth.

"Hmmmm," Came the reply, and Hal could practically hear Pearl pursing her lips. "Aren't you done detoxing?" SHe called back shrilly.

"Apparently not." He stated, miffed. "Gah- Pearl!" She had appeared suddenly behind him, and between the sudden feeling of being watched nad the strange noise she had made at seeing him, he was sufficiently freaked out.

"Oh Hal." She breathed, her hands over her mouth. He had struggled so much that the ropes around his wrists had cut in deeply and ripped his skin away. The blood was dripping down the back of the chair he was tied to. Hal looked confused for a few moments before Pearl realized he didn't know. Perhaps there was so much blood in his hallucinations he couldn't tell if what he smelled was the real thing or not. Pain and sympathy spasmed across her face for a second.

"Please leave, Pearl." Hal's voice was softer than before, defeated and tired. So tired. She left.

!)!))!))!))!))!)!))!))!))!)BACKTOTHEFUTURE!))!)!)!)!)!)!)!)!

"Didja know there's a new bookstore 'round the corner?" Tom asked, setting a new set of teacups down on the table. After the last homicidal vampire attack, they had been forced to systematically replace all sorts of things.

"No, I didn't. Do you think they're any good?" Annie asked, rocking Eve. She seemed much calmer when Annie held her, for whatever reason.

"Oh yeah. Plenty good." Tom snatched a biscuit from the tin sitting on the counter. "They've been bringing in loads of books. Oh, and didja hear about Hal's, whatsit, ex-girlfriend?" Annie suddenly seemed a bit less at ease.

"Yes. Hal told me her name is Isobel, and that we should all be very careful not to go near her." Annie stood up and began walking around with eve.

"Yeah. She came into the shop today. Just sat there and freaked everyone out. She didn't do nowt, though. Just sat there na d talked a bit. She did get a bit close to me, but I don't think she did anything there, either."

"Who didn't do anything where?" Hal asked wearily, coming down the stairs.

"Isobel didn't do anything in the shop." Filled in Tom. At the sound of the name Isobel, Hal made a face and tripped.

"Are you alright Hal? My, that's unprecedented. I don't think I've ever seen you this clumsy!" Annie began to mother both hal and Eve simultaneously, and neither seemed to like it much.

Tom sighed. Just another day, then.

A/N: *Okay, so I chose Derife because I couldn't find any information online about 1535 Paris. If anyone happens to know of an actual city near Paris that existed back then that I could research, I'd be very grateful. Also, I'm sorry it took so long to post, I had to reedit when I found out I'd gotten something majorly wrong.

** Also, I used the whole 'learning English' thing to reduce the amount of French in the flashbacks. Sue me. *shrug*


	3. Of Murder and Misses

A/N: Because I have (stupidly, I know, trust me) recently gotten into the show Misfits (awesome stuff,) I will not be updating really quickly. I try to write, but the ideas don't always connect. Sorry. Also, I know the time shifts may seem random, but they all have a purpose, 'kay? Thanks for the reviews, they do make my day! Also, there will be an abundance of foul language today. I don't really know why...

"I just don't get it, yeah? There's like, this girl. And she's like, fucking gorgeous, and she won't fucking let me shag her. It's like, what the fuck?" The young man talking on his cell phone most certainly did not notice the young woman in front of him. This was strange for many reasons, not the least of which was because she was, as he had said to describe someone else, fucking gorgeous. Other than that, there was the fact that she was standing straight ahead of him.

"Maybe she didn't like you." The woman called, leaning on a streetlamp. The man looked up from his phone. She stepped further forward. "I know I wouldn't, if you talked about me like that."

"Gotta go mate, hot sexy redhead checking me out." Smirked the man, fflipping his ohine closed. "And who are you sweetheart?" The woman stepped even closer, smile widening.

"Isobel Montain." She purred, the name rolling off her tongue like a drop of water. "And you?"

"David Etcherson." He stammered a tad on the end of his name. Isobel smiled even more widely.

"David. Lovely." And then her eyes went black.

~*~*~/1956/~*~*~

"So what've we got here?" Thomas Cameron snapped on a pair of gloves, stalking single-mindedly down the hall, towards the staircase.

"Erm, young man, african-american, early thirties." The young Constable hurried to catch up to him. "Throat's been ripped to shreds, heart torn out, superficial scratches. It's like he's been attacked by something."

"Hm." Cameron sniffed, adjusting his coat. "Name?"

"Erm, David Marlebloom."

"Third one this week, isn't he?" Cameron looked over his shoulder at the constable. "Two other Davids, one in Kensington, the West Line, one in Trafalgar Square, and now this one."

"Is it a pattern? I mean, serial killings, sir?" The young constable looked scared, a refreshing change from the other constables, forever excited about the latest crimes. She looked honestly terrified, and while for her that was perfectly normal, she looked even more frightened than usual. Cameron sighed, putting his hat on and opening the front door.

"Possibly." He swept out, slamming the door behind him.

~*~*~*~/2012/~*~*~*~

The blood was everywhere. Well, not everywhere. There was hardly any on the redhead. She had torn his throat out, taken his beating heart from his chest with a flick of her fingernails, and yet, the only blood on her was on her face, from where she had sunk her teeth into his neck. She stood up, using a delicate finger to wipe drops of blood from the corner of her mouth. Then, taking the paintbrush that had twisted her hair into a knot, she dipped it into the hole in his throat and began writing on the wall. After about ten minutes, the message had become DAVID: BELOVED.

Watching from a doorway that hadn't been there a moment before, David Etcherson realised, in retrospect, that he probably shouldn't have taken the long way home.

~*~*~*~/Introducing.../~*~*~*~ Eleanor Hartford was very unhappy. In her line of work, unhappiness was a bit of a given, but this was a whole new level of depression. People coming into bookstores to read the books instead of buy them! Honestly! Why not go to the library, if that's what they were after? Reading then buying she could understand, she herself liked to get the feel of a book before buying it, but these people only read for the sake of it! Like this man here, he'd been reading part of the poetry section.

"Are you goin' to buy the book or not?" She sighed at the man. He started and turned around. He was quite attractive, actually. Wavy brown hair, dark eyes. Tall, dark and handsome. And about to be staked. "I'd get down if I were you."

"Why?" He snapped at her, closing the heavy hardback.

"There's a man behind you wielding a tree branch, Mr. Suckblood." He ducked down, swinging the book into the other man's stomach. "There, now we can tie 'im up and leave him for the police." She slapped a piece of duct tape over the assailant's mouth cheerily.

"Suckblood?" The brunette asked, turning his wrinkly forhead and big brown eyes on her.

"Yeah, you're a vampire, aren't you?" He nodded.

"How did you know?" He asked cautiously.

"Oh, didn't I mention? I'm a witch." She grinned at him, all the while tying up the random attacker.

"Who are you?" He asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"Ella Hartford. And you are?" He remained silent, staring at her. "Oh, please? I saved your life, the least you can do is tell me your name.."

"Hal." He said finally, "Hal Yorke." She shook his hand, cheery as ever. "Does this happen a lot to you?" He asked, belatedly observing her carefree attitude to the whole attack.

"Oh, you know, every now and then. As much as anyone else, I suppose." She yanked fiercely on a piece of rope.

"And how often would that be?" Asked Hal dryly.

"Erm, 'bout twice a week?"

~*~*~*~*/Louisa/~*~*~*~

"Are you FUCKING insane? You are! You're mad! My daughter's gone mad." Louisa Brighton took a deep, sarcastic breath and rolled her eyes, looking up from her book.

"Mum, I'm telling you, I'm twenty-one. You don't need to worry about my mental health." Felicia Brighton stopped dead to look at her daughter.

"Don't I?"

"No, you don't." Confirmed Louisa.

"Werewolves, vampires, witches, zombies! You're completely mental!"

"And ghosts. You forgot ghosts." Louisa flipped another page in her book.

"LOUISA!"

"Least you know she's listening." Cut in her sister, Kelsey, dropping the shopping by the door.

"Shh. She isn't supposed to notice that."

~*~*~*~/HalAndCo/~*~*~*~

"There's been another one, Hal." Two weeks had passed since Isobel appeared in the cafe, and there had been two murders. Hal was quiet, avoiding any and all questions about, well, anything. He did suddenly have an interest in keeping track of all the latest murders, which Annie was grateful for, because at lest it kept him talking to them.

"What is it this time?" His voice was muted through the door.

"Another David." Hal opened the door a crack and snatched the news clipping from Annie. Then he closed the door again.

"Hal-"

"It's Isobel, Annie." He paused, and Annie could tell he was debating over whether to tell her this. "I turned her, Annie, this is my fault."

"You turned her? When?" Annie couldn't keep the curiosity out of her voice.

"Spring. 1535."

~*~*~*~/1535/~*~*~*~

"Lord Henry is a distinguished gentleman, my dear." The Lord of the Manor eyed his daughter, seeing her reaction to his statement.

"Yes, he is." Isobel smiled demurely over her needlepoint. There was something hidden in that smile, a gentle cruelty. The same cruelty that reveals itself in any human being who has both ambition and the adequate sociopathy to fuel it. That flicker of knowledge appeared, however, to Lord Guillaume Montfille, as hidden evil appears to any naive man: fondness.

"A perfect match, so the ladies of court say." Isobel's smile only grew wider.

"Yes, Papa. I've heard." She finished another stitch.

"Do you believe that?" His voice lowered a bit, as though more serious.

"Yes Papa, I do." In, out, twist. In, out, twist. She continued her embroidery with studious disregard for the conversation.

"I, myself, would approve the match if it were not for one detail." She paused to look up only long enough to ask:

"And what is that, Papa?"

"Lord Henry is a vampire, my dear." He said gently, as though she would run screaming.

"Yes, Papa. I heard." She went back to her needlepoint. He nodded.

"Merely affirming that you were aware, my dear."

~*~*~*~/Plague/~*~*~*~

The light flickering over the walls came from a single candle, which was small and dying slowly. It had held on for the last valiant hours of it's master's life, but it could only fight so long. All things die, eventually, if you give them enough time.

"There is a revolution coming, my dear." Isobel clutched her father's hand like it was her lifeline. "A revolution against us humans, and you must take the other side." She sobbed, bowing her head over their clasped hands. "You must become one of them, and you must fight against all you have learned." He took a last, rattlig breath, the sound as painful to hear as it was to make. "Allow the vampires to take you, and you will be safe."

"Papa!" She cried, releasing his hand and reaching to fist her hands in his chest. "Papa!"

It is recounted, in one legend, that they had to drag her screaming from the body.

Plagues are contagious after all.

A?N: Yeah. I don't know how I feel about this one... The last half of this is unbeta'd, so don't judge. Please tell me if I made any mistakes.  



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